“I can think of another way for you to reward me for that.”
“I’m sure you can. I bet it involves using those keys to unlock the bedroom.”
“I was just going to let you buy me a lobstah roll, but I can see where you’d find me utterly irresistible right now, so if you want to drag me to bed, I won’t argue.”
“God, how do you go from being so maddening to perfectly romantic to completely smug in the space of two minutes?”
“It’s part of my charm.”
“Maybe you better show me below deck then.”
“So you can rip my clothes off?”
She shook her head and tried not to laugh. She didn’t want to let on about the extent of her happiness right now for fear that if Hal’s head got any bigger, it might not fit inside the sailboat. “No, because if you make one more comment like that, I might be tempted to throw you overboard.”
They lay naked sprawled across the double bed in the sailboat cabin. Hal stared at the low wood-trimmed ceiling as she tried to catch her breath. Sex with Quinn came fast and hard and amazing, but always left her a little disoriented, as though their desire for each other superseded other basic human needs, like oxygen.
“So what kind of boat is this?” Quinn asked, seeming to recover much faster.
“Uh, a sailboat.”
“No kidding. What’s the make and model?”
“I don’t even know if boats have makes and models, but the guy I rented it from called it a Catalina Twenty-Eight. I think the twenty-eight is the length, but you know how men are about their measurements.”
“True,” Quinn said, “do you know how to sail one of these things?”
“Not even a little bit.” She laughed. “Foster kids from Buffalo, New York, don’t get a lot of practice time on yachts.”
“I wouldn’t think so, but you’ve surprised me in more ways than one, so I wouldn’t put any skill past you.”
Hal’s chest filled with pride at the reminder that she wasn’t totally outmatched. Sometimes she was so cowed by Quinn’s poise, social acumen, and sexual prowess, she appreciated the reminder that she could still throw her off guard a little bit. Apparently the sailboat had scored some pretty big points.
“I am surprised they just rent these things out to people who can’t sail, though.”
“Well, this one isn’t technically a rental.”
“What?” Quinn sat up quickly. “We aren’t really trespassing, are we? Did we just have illegal sex?”
Hal burst out laughing again. “As hot as that sounds, no.”
“What then?”
“I only meant the Esperanza is a privately owned boat that doesn’t usually get rented out. I got it for the weekend in trade.”
“Trade?”
“I catered a bachelor party for a guy two months ago. The dude’s frat brother wanted to go all out, but he had a budget, so I just had him buy all the food, and I waived my personal fee.”
“For his boat?”
“Well, actually it’s the boat of one of the other frat brothers. He’d won use of her in a poker game, but he doesn’t really dig Ptown.”
“Who doesn’t dig Ptown?”
“I know, right? Straight guys, apparently. I bet he’s thinking his odds of scoring a woman in this town are a little slim.”
“Probably smart,” Quinn said, then glanced around. “But the boat would help.”
Hal grinned at Quinn’s body, lithe and sexy under the translucent white sheet. “Obviously.”
“Eyes back up here, Fryboi.” Quinn pointed to her face. “Finish the boat story.”
“That’s it, basically.”
“You catered a bachelor party for a frat boy, and one of his brothers paid you for your services with a boat he won in a poker game from another frat brother?”
“Pretty much.”
“Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?”
Hal shrugged. “It worked.”
“How did you even write that into a contract?”
“We didn’t. I mean, we wrote out the details in emails. But we didn’t sign anything.”
“You worked for some guy you didn’t know on the promise of some other guy letting you use his boat sometime down the road? That’s insane.”
“And yet here we are, naked on said boat.”
Quinn flopped back onto the bed. “Your life is completely foreign to me. You know this, right?”
“But it’s a good life, Quinn,” Hal said seriously.
“It does seem to suit you.”
Hal wondered if there was something unspoken on the end of that sentence. Perhaps a “but not me.” Or maybe Quinn had started to realize this kind of life could be an option for her, too. Then again, maybe she was just being silly. Quinn might enjoy their accommodations, but she still seemed totally baffled by the way Hal had secured them. If she were being completely honest, she hadn’t even been sure everything would work out right up until it did. Fourth of July accommodations in Ptown weren’t cheap or easy to come by. If something had gone wrong with the boat plan, she’d had no backup. They likely would’ve ended up sleeping in the truck. She’d done so before, but she doubted Quinn would see the appeal.
If Quinn had planned the trip, she would’ve had alternatives in place for every contingency. And yet, they probably wouldn’t be sleeping on a beautiful sailboat. Hell, they wouldn’t have taken this trip at all. If she’d had her way, they would’ve spent the weekend working back in Buffalo.
“Hey.” Quinn ran her fingers up Hal’s arm. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. She didn’t need to get too deep. There was no need to think about what-ifs or could’ve beens. Everything was amazing right now in the moment, and they were here to live in the moment. “Just a little dreamy.”
“I must admit, you do look dreamy, all bare chested and rakish on the sailboat you won in a poker game.”
“Like a pirate?”
Quinn rolled her eyes, but then she smiled. “Maybe a little bit like a pirate.”
Hal pounced on her, playfully kissing her neck until she laughed and squirmed away. “That tickles!”
“Tickling is this pirate’s favorite form of torture.”
“But it’s not mine.”
“What’s yours?”
Quinn pursed her lips and seemed to think about her answer until Hal grew tired of waiting. She started to kiss along Quinn’s amazing collarbone down toward the hollow at the base of her throat. Quinn bit her lip and held perfectly still as Hal marked a line down her chest. She had just about reached the end of her path, then Quinn abruptly rolled out of reach.
“Wait, what?” Hal asked, her voice low and raspy.
“That’s my favorite form of torture,” Quinn said with a wicked grin. “Making you wait.”
Hal flopped back onto the bed. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“You really did, but I have a consolation prize for you.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m starving.”
Hal raised her eyebrows, not able to think with Quinn standing gloriously naked just out of arm’s reach. “So?”
“So, I think it’s time to go get one of those lobster rolls you’ve been going on about.”
“Lobstah,” Hal corrected.
“Right, lobstah roll.”
“Say it again.”
“Lobstah roll,” Quinn repeated.
Hal pushed herself up and crawled to the edge of the bed. “I do find it very sexy when you talk food.”
“Good, I like to keep you turned on while you wait.”
Hal didn’t say anything more as she grabbed her pants and pulled them on. She didn’t want to admit how easy it was for Quinn to turn her on, but she had a feeling Quinn already knew.
They didn’t have to walk very far to reach John’s Footlong, as the restaurant was right at the edge of the pier.
“Foot long?” Quinn asked.
“Yeah, John has a hig
h opinion of himself,” Hal said.
“Sounds like someone else I know.”
“It’s not bragging if you can back it up.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Quinn looked at the sign again. It featured a walking hotdog in a hat and shorts squeezing a bottle of mustard in a way that seemed more than a little suggestive. “Are you sure this is the lobster, I mean lobstah, roll place?”
“Positive. The townies say it’s the best lobstah roll in town, and I haven’t found anything better yet.”
“Okay, I trust your judgment on these things. Let’s go on in.”
“There’s no in,” Hal explained. “It’s just a window.”
“Walk up. All right. But tell me, do you have an aversion to food served in places where you can eat it sitting down?”
“Huh. Now that you mention it . . . ” Hal smiled. “Just kidding. There’s a little patio deck upstairs. We can sit there and do some people-watching.”
The plan did sound nice, and she wasn’t about to contradict a foodie about restaurants, even if she had envisioned lobster being served in a little bit fancier location.
Hal stepped under the bright red awning and addressed a white-haired woman behind the counter. “We’ll have a lobstah roll with an order of fried clams and fries.”
“Are you sure you don’t want any onion rings? My treat,” Quinn called.
“That’ll be all,” Hal said, shooting Quinn a look over her shoulder. “Pay no mind to the woman with the New York accent. I think she might be a Yankees fan.”
The white-haired woman’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time in her life Quinn felt mildly fearful of an octogenarian.
“Geez, you’d have thought you told her I liked to kick puppies.”
“Most people around here wouldn’t put that past some Yankees fans.”
“I don’t even really care for sports.”
“And I don’t care for onions, so we’re even.”
Quinn had the sudden urge to kiss her, right there in the middle of the street under the bright red awning, and she didn’t even know why. Because Hal looked so damned adorable being snappy and pouty at the same time? Because she was the best chef Quinn had ever met and the thought of eating an onion made her resort to name-calling? Because she’d brought them all the way to the eastern tip of America to shake her out of her routine but she still hadn’t changed who she was? Then again, maybe she just couldn’t get enough of kissing her.
Still, whatever the reason, Quinn didn’t go around kissing women in the middle of streets or sidewalks or any public space for that matter. Honestly, she didn’t make a habit out of kissing women just because. Like everything else in her life, kissing always led to something. Not always immediately. She didn’t just jump into bed with every woman she kissed, but it was a first step or a litmus test at the very least, not a whim.
“Ordah up,” the old woman called.
Hal grabbed a few baskets of food and passed one to Quinn before turning back to the woman. “Thank ya.”
“Same ta ya.”
“Wow,” Quinn said, looking at the food. “I would make fun of you for your sorry attempt to pick up that accent if not for the more pressing need of stuffing my face with this food.”
“Lucky me,” Hal said, nodding toward the stairs. “Get up there fast, or I will have eaten the entire meal before you even sit down.”
She practically jogged up the wooden stairs to the small patio deck and grabbed two seats along the rail, then pointed to Hal’s lobster roll. “You going to divvy that up, Fryboi?”
“I’d intended too, but now that I see it, it seems a shame to break up something so beautiful.”
Quinn eyed the meat piled high and held together by a thin white sauce atop a single layer of crisp lettuce on a toasted bun. “Okay, I understand if you don’t want to split it. I’d be happy to eat the whole thing.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Hal said. Cradling the sandwich in her hands, she lifted it like she might offer it up as a holy sacrifice to the food gods before clamping down and tearing it in two. She bowed her head as if mourning the shattered perfection, then quickly passed half of it to Quinn. “There. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
Quinn had no snappy comeback, or maybe she did, but she just couldn’t deliver it in her rush to take a bite of the lobster roll. The flavors immediately flooded her mouth, sending every taste bud firing like a machine gun. The lobster was rich and sweet blending with the creamy mayo, but the tang of lemon kept everything light and fresh. Heavy and zesty at the same time, no wonder Hal had waxed poetic about this thing for hours. She wanted to write a sonnet to the sandwich right now.
Instead she met Hal’s gaze, and with all the sincerity she could muster said, “Aw, honey, some bois give girls diamonds, but I know this cost you something much greater.”
“Actually, diamonds cost a lot,” Hal mumbled as she finished chewing her first bite. “And while this sandwich wasn’t cheap, it’s got one major advantage over diamonds.”
“What?”
“I don’t know how to make diamonds, but I’m sure as hell going to learn how to make one of these.”
“You’re going to make lobstah rolls on Cheesy Does It?”
“Here’s the thing,” Hal said, then as though nothing could possibly be as important as the lobster roll in her hand, she took another bite and had to chew before she continued. Quinn totally got the impulse and did the same, trying not to make yummy nom nom noises as she chewed.
“I got nothing to offer the traditional lobstah roll. Ain’t nothing a Buffalo boi can teach the East Coast about their baby.”
“Right, that’d be like someone from Boston trying to reinvent the wing.”
“Yeah, ’cause they aren’t called Boston wings.”
“I hear you.”
“But you know what I know?”
“Grilled cheeses?”
“Grilled cheeses,” Hal repeated emphatically. “You saw that coming, huh?”
“I’m right there with you.”
“Okay, so we need this filling exactly.”
“Wouldn’t change a thing.” Quinn pulled out her iPhone to take notes. “Lots of meat, little bit of mayo, little bit of lemon . . . and?”
Hal took another bite and seemed to think for a second before adding, “Smidge of celery.”
“Got it.” Quinn motioned for her to continue.
“But the lettuce, it’s gotta go, ’cause it will get wilty if we cook it.”
“And it’s healthy. No one really wants a healthy grilled cheese.”
Hal licked her lips. “Quinn, I could kiss you for saying that. When women talk about making food healthy, it kills all the joy, like trying not to make sex messy.”
Hal leaned closer, but Quinn snapped her fingers. “Kissing comes later. Stay focused on the food, Fryboi. We need a cheese.”
“Right. Well, gruyere pairs well with seafood.”
“And it’s creamy and melty.”
Hal let loose a little growl. “It’s so sexy when you talk texture.”
“I learned from the best.” Quinn liked this fast-paced exchange of ideas laced with a healthy dose of innuendo. She liked it even more that Hal trusted her enough to bounce ideas off her. She didn’t take their progress for granted. She wanted to keep up. She needed to prove herself worthy, partially for the future of her business plans, but also because she simply wanted to remain part of the process. There was a joy that accompanied working closely with Hal.
“But there’s also some sweetness there to the lobster that asks, ‘what about an extra sharp cheddar?’”
“Very important question.”
“You know what we need?”
“A taste test?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m very good at research and development.” Quinn hoped she didn’t sound too desperate to be included.
“I thought you might be,” Hal said with a grin. “You know, I had sort of expected you to go window s
hopping or something while I worked, but here’s a crazy idea. How would you like to be my partner on this project?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, what do you say? Want to make something new, together?”
She could barely contain her smile. It burst up from deep inside her chest and stretched all the cool, detached business qualities right out of her mind. She and Hal, working side by side, nothing between them but a shared desire to do something fun, something good, something original.
Something together.
“I would actually like that a lot.”
Chapter Sixteen
“You want to sell people half a sandwich?” Hal asked.
“No, I want to sell them two half-sandwiches.”
“But not a whole sandwich?”
“Not exactly. They get half of a lobstah and gruyere, and half of a lobstah and sharp cheddar. Then they come back and tell us which half they liked better. We could even set up a chip drop or something.”
Hal raised an eyebrow.
“You get two cans and a bunch of poker chips, label one can ‘gruyere’ and one can ‘cheddar,’ and give each customer a poker chip. Then when people taste each option, they drop their poker chip in whatever can they vote for.”
The plan was a lot to think about so early on a Saturday morning, and clearly Quinn had respected that enough to at least let her get her first cup of coffee in hand. But as soon as they’d found a patio table at Joe’s, she’d launched into her spiel. And it clearly wasn’t something she’d thrown together in the moment. She’d likely been plotting away all night.
Well, maybe not all night. There had been an hour or two when Hal felt certain she’d had her full attention. After that though, she suspected Quinn had either lain awake for a while thinking, or she’d woken up early. By the time Hal had rolled over to reach for her around eight, Quinn was up, dressed, and reading a Boston Globe on the main deck. She’d marveled then how she could’ve gotten out of the cabin and off the boat without her noticing. Now she realized her level of stealth wasn’t just impressive, it was purposeful.
Still, she didn’t want to show her cards too soon. Quinn liked to keep her off balance, and in the bedroom she’d all but conceded the upper hand. But the food truck was still her domain. She sat back in her metal chair and sipped her dark roast, trying to find a hole in the plan. There had to be some flaw, some way it messed up her creative mojo or threatened her autonomy. She liked Quinn, probably more than she should, given the still tenuous state of their relationship beyond this weekend, and yet she couldn’t forget those corporate-shark style red flags Quinn had sent up early on. She couldn’t let her think she could run roughshod over her business.
Perfect Pairing Page 22